Week #193 - the worst week
« previous | next »

Wordcount:


This story was critiqued by:
Maugrim (crit)
Sitting Here (crit)

Flash rule: night was bitter cold, and the gas-lamps round the square flared and flickered in the keen wind; but his hands were hot with fever, and his forehead burned like fire. On and on he went, almost with the gait of a drunken man. A policeman looked curiously at him as he passed, and a beggar, who slouched from an archway to ask for alms, grew frightened, seeing misery greater than his own. Once he stopped under a lamp, and looked at his hands. He thought he could detect the stain of blood already upon them, and a faint cry broke from his trembling lips.

Murder! that is what the cheiromantist had seen there. Murder! The very night seemed to know it, and the desolate wind to howl it

Serpent in the Nest
permalink

You must be logged in to see stories.


« previous | next »
.